C T Ferguson Box Set

by Tom Fowler

  Back at my hotel room, I renewed my efforts to find Chris Sellers online. If Anna went to see him, he could be online now. I checked all the haunts I knew for him and came up empty. Bobbi Lane said his company email address still worked, but he hadn’t answered her. I sent her a text wondering if anything changed. She replied a few minutes later and said it hadn’t. She also wondered when we could go running again. I suggested tomorrow. She asked where I was, and I told her.

  After coming up empty on finding Chris, I checked my traffic camera script to see if I could get a clue where Anna was. I didn’t get any hits for her car. It definitely left the parking lot. Even if someone stole it, the traffic cameras up and down Coastal Highway would have seen the car. Yesterday, I told Anna I found her via her credit card. Now I wondered if she and Chris were paranoid enough to wonder about traffic cameras. If she didn’t want to be tracked, she could have swapped her license plate or simply taken a bunch of back roads.

  Maybe she didn’t want to be found again.

  A couple hours later, I walked across the street and checked the parking lot. The Subaru was still missing. I went inside. Instead of Vince, a cute redheaded girl of college age worked the front desk. She grinned dimples at me as I approached. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I was supposed to meet my friend here yesterday, but I got delayed. I hope she hasn’t checked out.”

  “Have you tried calling her?” she said, frowning in confusion as if I hadn’t considered the obvious. Did I look so much older and more technophobic to a college-aged girl?

  “Well, part of my delay left me without a phone, or I would have. Can you tell me if she’s still registered?”

  Vicki, according to her nametag, pondered my problem for a moment before offering a cheerful nod. “I can check for you. What’s the name?”

  “Curie,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. She’s already checked out,” Vicki said after a quick search.

  “Unfortunate. Do you know when?”

  “Seven o’clock this morning.”

  “Wow,” I said. “She got an early start. OK, I’ll have to get a phone and reach her, then. Thanks.”

  Vicki gestured to a phone at the end of the desk. “You could use ours.” She lowered her voice. “We’re not supposed to let people use it, but it sounds like you need it.”

  Social engineering works. Never believe otherwise. “Thanks,” I said, “but I don’t want to land you in hot water.” And I didn’t. I knew what I needed to know. Vicki gave me another smile as I walked out. Anna Blair had been gone for hours, and she knew to evade traffic cameras, so I couldn’t keep track of her. She also knew not to use her credit card. I really needed to stop telling people things.

  I got back to my hotel room. Anna and Chris were in the wind again. I could only presume she told Chris how I found her, so now they’d both be careful going forward. It still concerned me if I could find them, Esposito could find them. They were careful before. If I didn’t know where they went, I couldn’t help them.

  I checked out and drove up and down Coastal Highway for about an hour, hoping to luck into spying Anna Blair’s Subaru somewhere. I came up empty. Without anything else to pursue, I headed back home.

  After I got to my house, I checked my traffic camera script. No hits. I looked for Anna Blair’s credit cards. Nothing. On a lark, I tried Chris Sellers’ cards. Nothing. They vanished from the grid again. I hoped they were better at hiding this time. While I wanted to find them, I wanted to make sure Esposito and his cronies couldn’t.

  I logged onto codingchat.com and sent Chris a message.

  Chris,

  I found Anna. It looks like you two have gone off the grid again. I can help you, but you need to let me. If I found you before, I’m worried Esposito will find you now. You should be worried, too. Reply to me here or at my cell: 410-555-7274.

  I didn’t have an idea of how to keep looking for them. They were ahead of me from the jump, and could have gone myriad places in the hours before I realized they were in the wind. The elapsed time since opened up more possible places. I didn’t even have a way of narrowing them down at the moment. They could have driven north from Ocean City, up through Delaware, and could be eating lobster in Maine right now for all I knew.

  My phone rang. Of course, it was Brian Sellers. When life hands you lemons, sometimes it follows up by pelting you with more of them. He’d keep calling.

  “Hi, C.T., it’s Brian.”

  I was used to old people telling me who was calling. People Brian’s age grew up with caller ID. Then again, maybe he lumped me in with Luddites like Vicki at the hotel did. “Hi, Brian,” I said, summoning my diplomacy.

  “Have you found Chris?”

  “I would have told you if I had.”

  “Oh.” I could almost hear him deflate over the phone.

  “I found Anna, though,” I said.

  “Oh!” Life came back into his voice. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Maybe. If I can find her, the people she and Chris are hiding from might be able to also.”

  “You said you found her.” He paused. “What happened?”

  “Yesterday’s news,” I said. “She and Chris left early this morning. I don’t know where they are right now.”

  “Can you find them again?” Brian said.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Keep trying to reach him. You never know; it might make a difference one of these times.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I’m going to keep trying, too,” I said. “If I found them once, I should be able to again.”

  “Good luck,” he said.

  I declined to say I would need it, even though I would.

  Gloria called as I sat down to eat dinner. I made steak kabobs with rice pilaf. At least they would reheat well. “How’s your case going?” she said.

  I liked her taking a greater interest in my cases, but I wasn’t sold on talking shop with her yet. It felt a little odd. I wanted some separation between my professional and personal lives. The fact of Gloria consuming more and more of my personal life was something we would need to hammer out one day. I liked her, but I wondered if our relationship of fun and convenience was morphing into something more. “Well,” I said, “and not so well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I told her about finding Anna, what I learned, and then Anna’s early departure. “You’ll find them again,” Gloria said.

  “I hope so,” I said. “My concern is I found them before, and I’m still not the only one looking. What if I’m not first to find them the next time?”

  “You found her before, you can find her again.”

  “I’ll try. I need to before the other guys do.”

  “Do you know where you’re going to look next?” she said.

  “Not really,” I said. “They could be anywhere along the east coast by now . . . or well past the Mississippi River if they made a turn.”

  “Are they both from around here?”

  “I think so.” I would have to check about Anna.

  “Then I doubt they packed up and drove to Kansas,” Gloria said.

  I nodded. “They don’t really see themselves as on the run. Anna made it clear enough, and I don’t think I changed her mind. They think they’re just holing up until all this blows over.”

  “See? You should listen to me more often,” Gloria said. I could hear the smile in her voice. Her smile was terrific, and it forced me to reciprocate.

  “It all depends on what you say,” I said.

  “I could whisper some suggestions into your near next time I see you.”

  “I’ll definitely listen to you more, then,” I said.

  Later, I came back downstairs. There had to be better ways of trying to find Chris Sellers than the ancient messaging feature of a coding forum. Brian gave me the email address he checked most often (he said he didn’t have one for Anna).
I sent an email, saying pretty much the same thing I’d been saying all along. If I needed to type it again, I could add this is a recording to the end of it.

  I didn’t expect a response while I kept working and wasn’t disappointed. Chris didn’t have much reason to trust me, even if his brother did. I doubted my little tete-a-tete with Anna won me many favors, especially considering what I told her. Maybe he’d catch another glimpse of Esposito or one of his goons somewhere and realize I was the better alternative.

  Until then, I didn’t have any brilliant ideas on how to find him. Nor did I have any bad ideas, short of driving around and scrutinizing silver Subarus. I wasn’t desperate enough to try it yet. On a lark, I checked the results of my traffic camera script again. No hits. I didn’t expect there to be any. Low expectations make disappointment impossible. This case kept reinforcing the idea.

  I didn’t want to let Brian Sellers down. His brother made a stupid decision, but the kid didn’t need to pay the price for it. I didn’t have any ideas for the night, however, and after not being disappointed at my lack of results for anything again, I went back upstairs.

  Chapter 12

  The next day, I changed into a running outfit and drove to Bobbi Lane’s apartment in White Marsh. She told me she had a nice five-mile course planned for us. As I pulled the Caprice into her complex, I remembered I needed to resume my new-car searching. My Lexus was still MIA. The Caprice had its uses, but everyday driving was not among them. I went into Bobbi’s building and rang her doorbell. She answered in a tank top and a pair of running shorts accentuating her legs. To my surprise, she kissed me at the door. “Ready to go?” she said.

  “After you,” I said. I followed her down the stairs and onto a nearby trail, watching with interest as she transitioned from walk to run. I settled in beside her at a good pace. Bobbi fell behind at some point. and I imagined she watched me with the same interest I watched her. The trail moved from paved to grassy a few times, winding into the woods. It was mostly level with a few hills not providing much of a challenge. We ran out to a checkpoint, paused for some water, and turned around.

  With the end of the trail in view, Bobbi decided to turn the last leg of our run into a sprint. Despite the fact I played lacrosse from sixth grade through my senior year of college, I’ve always been more of a distance runner than a sprinter. Bobbi bolted from a normal run into a dead sprint. I took off right behind but couldn’t catch her. She hit the end of the trail two steps ahead of me, stopped, and doubled over, catching her breath.

  “Not much of a sprinter?” she said, straightening.

  I drained the rest of my handheld water bottle. “I’m built for distance,” I said.

  Bobbi smirked at me. “Yeah, your stamina’s not bad.”

  We went inside and drank more water. Bobbi’s apartment was small, smaller than the one I leased in Fells Point after first returning from overseas. Her living room featured a new LED TV with a loveseat and two recliners. The dark brown furniture went nicely with the beige apartment-grade carpeting. The kitchen featured stainless steel appliances but not much counter space. The living area was open concept, with the cooking area flowing into a dinette with a round table sized just right for its two chairs.

  “I only have one shower,” Bobbi said after we had downed a tall glass of water each.

  “And probably a dinky water heater, too,” I said.

  She peeled her tank top off, revealing a sports bra beneath. I barely set my empty glass on the counter before Bobbi grabbed me and planted a kiss on my mouth. She pulled my sweaty shirt off and tossed it aside. “Yeah, it’s pretty small,” she said, steering me down the hall into her bathroom. I lifted her to sit atop the sink as we kissed some more.

  “I wonder how long the hot water lasts,” I said as I lifted Bobbi’s sports bra over her head.

  “Let’s find out,” she said.

  It lasted about twenty minutes. We cranked it up pretty high to massage our muscles after the run. Once the water dropped to warm and then to tepid, we retired to Bobbi’s bed, where more massaging was in order. Later, we lay side-by-side, tired again but refreshed at the same time. Bobbi propped her head up on her arm and looked at me. “I could get used to these runs,” she said.

  The sun coming in the window danced on Bobbi’s light mocha skin. She never looked prettier. I couldn’t help comparing her to Gloria but stopped as quickly as I started. Gloria and I enjoyed a relationship based on fun and convenience. So far, Bobbi and I had the same thing going. Comparing one to the other wouldn’t end well for anyone, especially me. I felt like I would need to choose between them at some point. You’re not in college anymore, C.T.

  “I could, too,” I said. And I could.

  “Any luck finding Chris?” Bobbi said.

  I shook my head. “The trail seems to have gone cold.” I gave her a brief rundown of finding Anna Blair and her subsequent vanishing act. “I’m not sure what else I can try at this point.”

  “You want me to try emailing him again?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “We miss Chris at work,” Bobbi said. “He’s really good. Covering his slack has really been tough.”

  “Are you picking it up?”

  “Some of it. I’m sort of divvying it with someone else.”

  “Anyone at work have any insight into where Chris might have gone?” I said.

  “I wish,” Bobbi said. “We’ve talked about it enough. He never really told us much about his private life, you know? Some people are just like that.”

  “Then you have those who Instagram their every meal and tweet the details of how it came out.”

  Bobbi chuckled. She showed dimples when she smiled or chuckled. It was absurdly cute. “I hope you find him.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “If you do, does that mean we can’t . . . run together anymore?” Bobbi said.

  “I don’t see why it would.”

  “Good.” Bobbi lifted herself up and lay atop me. “I think we were talking about your stamina earlier,” she said, kissing my neck.

  “You categorized it as merely ‘not bad,’” I said.

  “You suppose I need to upgrade that?”

  “I’ll prove it to you.”

  My boast made Bobbi smile.

  After lunch and another shower—this one alone—I finally put on my change of clothes and left Bobbi’s apartment. I drove home, checked my traffic camera scripts and email, and found nothing of promise or interest. I left my house and walked to a local coffee shop. When I left and walked home, I noticed a certain large gentleman following me. Rich always tells me how unobservant I am about things like this, and he has a point. For me to notice a tail, this fellow had to be bad at tailing.

  I settled in at a normal walking pace, using store and car windows to confirm he was still behind me. He didn’t seem to notice, not as though I expected him to. I was no expert at this. and he was even worse. I slowed, and he gained on me before adjusting his own pace. This guy most likely worked for Esposito. If Gonzalez put a tail on me, it wouldn’t be someone so inept. I took out my phone and queued up a Bluetooth exploit, slowing even more as I pretended to text. Captain Obvious wasn’t in range yet, but if I could get him about ten feet closer, he would be. I kept at the slower pace, and he matched it. As I neared my house, I stopped and faked a conversation, all the time keeping an eye on my special app.

  When the goon came within ten meters, a red line on the app went green. I touched the Exploit button, and it did its Bluetooth magic, compromising one of the most wide-open and vulnerable protocols in the world. Writing this program was easy, and even with the supposed advances in Bluetooth security, it had yet to fail me. It didn’t fail me this time, either; the program successfully cloned the goon’s phone. Now I would know his texts and calls as he got them. I remembered how Esposito distrusted electronics.

  It made me smile.

  When I got home, I dumped the goon’s phone information onto an extra SIM card
and inserted it into a spare phone I kept for situations like this. I keep three extra phones in case there’s more Bluetooth hackery to be done. The spare came online with the SIM card and provided me a perfect clone. Any text or call he made or received, I would be privy to. I hoped he would contact Esposito and one of them would know where Chris and Anna were hiding. Then again, I hoped no one in Esposito’s crew knew anything about where Chris and Anna were hiding.

  I glanced at, then ignored some rather lascivious texts between my incompetent shadow and a girl. His texting game was weak, but she seemed amenable to his limited charms. A short while later, I overheard a call with nothing to do with the case. Being a PI isn’t all glitz and glamour. We’re allowed to beat people up, and we usually get the girl in the end, but along the way, things like this happen.

  At about six, the dearth of useful activity on the cell phone made me hungry. I bought some fresh pita bread at the market, so I made a dinner getting me in touch with my nonexistent Greek roots. I sautéed onions and green peppers in olive oil, removed them, and cooked sliced steak in butter and spices. When the steak was mostly done, I added the onions and peppers back in and whipped up homemade tzatziki. While the steak cooled, I chopped lettuce and tomato and made myself a couple of stuffed steak pitas.

  I had eaten all of the first pita and about a third of the second one when the stolen phone rang again. This time, I heard Esposito’s voice on the other end of the conversation.